casts back cascading days like cards sprung
arcs of spades, queens, hearts, clubs
unsuited, reversing songs sung in mirrors
backwards flung into memories mouthing
words already spoken, yet unspoken..
lost chances call to memory like dead friends
beckoning in the wrong direction like time
shredded in the path of traffic filled smog highways
a thousand lanes all heading in the ways you can't imagine
back to those moments of lost chances, lost opportunities
children laugh at your hiding expression
hidden from view, hide from your own redemption.
by Paul Sinclair